


Dance and Romance Rhyme, so That's Gotta Count for Something

by Kyasrein, mar_map



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Dance Competitions, Dance as written by someone who knows little to nothing about dance, F/M, Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, RvB Big Bang, RvB Reverse Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 11:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12793326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyasrein/pseuds/Kyasrein, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mar_map/pseuds/mar_map
Summary: Washington's essentially left the dance competition scene since his sometimes-partner, Carolina, left him to pursue martial arts.  However, with the Manhattan Talent Agency coming into town, Carolina's pushing him to find a new partner, particularly the loud-mouthed Lavernius Tucker who has absolutely no training, favors breakdance, and definitely doesn't have Wash up nights thinking about him.There's no way that partnership is gonna work out.





	Dance and Romance Rhyme, so That's Gotta Count for Something

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was inspired by the wonderful work of Kyasrein over on Tumblr for the 2017 RVB Reverse Big Bang. I had such a fantastic time writing it and working with Kyasrein. You should definitely pop over to Tumblr to check all of her stuff out!

 

It was the sound of the air conditioner being switched back on more than the blinds being aggressively opened that woke Washington.  He’d always been a light sleeper, easily irritated by disruptions in the room while he was sleeping.  There was a reason he turned off the air conditioner crammed into his window at night.  Attempting to hide, he buried his head between a small pile of pillows, managing to block out both the light and most of the sound at the sacrifice of breathability.  Not that it entirely mattered anymore; he was quickly rising to wakefulness.

 

“Wash, get up,” Carolina began to pull out the pillows Washington had managed to nestle within, pushing away his last chances of getting back to sleep.  “You told me you’d hang up fliers for the dance competition with me today.”

 

Right.  Saturday.  Fliers for the dance competition being hosted by some out-of-town talent agency.  Washington remembered being asked – bribed – to help Carolina the day before.  She’d cornered him between two of his late-night classes at the gym they both worked at a few days prior.  The whole conversation had been a long-winded spiel about how it would be for the good of the gym, and it only made sense for him to help since he was the dance instructor, and he’d be paid for his time. 

 

Well, Washington wasn’t about to turn down another few paid hours.  Not that that meant he had to approve of Carolina’s timing.  Instead of getting up like she’d asked, Washington turned his head to glare at her, squinting against the glare from the sun that framed her red hair.  “But do we have to go this early?”

 

Carolina’s hands rested on her hips with a look that clearly said she was sorely disappointed in him.  He continued to maintain his glare, refusing to back down despite the involuntary wave of guilt that her disapproving look brought up every time it was turned on him, without fail.  “Wash, it’s already ten.”

 

“It’s what!?”  Washington flung himself toward the dresser beside his bed, in an undoubtedly ungraceful maneuver, snatching up his charging cell phone to confirm that Carolina wasn’t, in fact, lying.  She wasn’t.  “How is it – but I _never_ sleep this late!”

 

“That’s what happens when you don’t go to sleep until four every morning and then insist you have to be up at seven to go jogging.  You’ve got to sleep sometime.”

 

“But I missed my morning jog,” Washington couldn’t help but grumble petulantly. 

 

Carolina wasn’t having any of his complaints.  Instead she had turned her back to him to disinterestedly go through the shirts in his closet, one hanger at a time.  “You can go on your jog later.  First you need to shower and come hang posters with me.  Seriously,” she continued, without missing a beat, “do you own anything that isn’t grey?”

 

The answer was probably no.  “Is that a trick question?”  Washington forced himself to sit up, glad he’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants before going to sleep the night before.  He watched Carolina continue for a few more minutes before she seemed to give up on finding him something to wear, which only cemented his own belief that he did only own clothes in varying shades of grey. 

 

“If you’re ready in half an hour, I’ll buy you coffee.” 

 

That wasn’t an offer Washington was about to pass up.

 

\--

 

They ended up getting coffee at a tiny coffee house a few blocks away from the apartment.  It wasn’t the usual place Washington stopped at in the morning which happened to be a chain coffee joint conveniently placed on the route that lead him to work.  Carolina even offered breakfast in a rare display of charity.  Washington eyed her suspiciously their entire wait in line although she avoided his gaze masterfully, appearing to browse the menu chalked up on a blackboard above the counter.

 

She had to be up to something.  Not that that stopped Washington from ordering a pastry to go with his coffee.  Carolina _had_ offered after all; it would have been rude to refuse.  He waited for the punchline of the morning, even as they sat in one of the booths by the window.  The bright mid-morning light streamed in through the glass, only somewhat blinding.  Washington placed a hand down on the table, palm against the warm spot left by the sun, soaking in the heat.

 

“You really are a cat,” Carolina couldn’t help but note.

 

“I like the warmth.”

 

Carolina’s lips twisted up in a small smile.  “Yes, I know.”  There was quiet between them for a few minutes.  Washington pulled apart his pastry while Carolina’s gaze seemed fixed on a couple arguing in line.  She cleared her throat, attention back on him, “So, I thought we could hang fliers up around this side of town.  The bus stops and train stations and that sort of thing.”

 

“Don’t you think it would be better to hang them closer to the gym?  Know your audience and all that?”

 

Carolina shrugged.  “Everyone at the gym is already going to see them.  We need to reach a wider audience, get people who have never had any formal training to try out, you know?”

 

Washington couldn’t help but laugh.  However, Carolina’s pointed and somewhat disapproving look caused the sound to sputter out.  “It’s not like someone like that can _win_ ,” Washington couldn’t help but point out.  A majority of the contestants were sure to be people with dance experience.   It was a _partner_ competition.  That meant that there needed to be planning, choreography, _routines_.  At Carolina’s continued disapproval, Washington exclaimed, “You know I’m right!”

 

Instead of answering right away Carolina just shook her head, taking a long swallow of her coffee.  “It’s the Manhattan _Talent_ Agency, Wash.  I don’t think they’re going to care how much experience their competitors have.”

 

“Just means they won’t be any good,” Washington couldn’t help but mumble.  Carolina’s solid glare told him that she’d heard anyway.  He just wasn’t sure why made her so adamant that a newbie would have just a good a chance at a win as someone like Washington or herself – even if she’d abandoned it for martial arts years ago - people who had dedicated years to technique and skill.  Thankfully, she didn’t say anything else about it.

 

Instead she turned the conversation back to their original topic, “We should get going.  It’s almost noon, and I don’t want to buy you lunch too.”  She said it with a small smile, an attempt to lighten her earlier glare no doubt.  “You can bring your sugary sludge that you call coffee with you.”

 

“It’s the only think that makes it taste good,” he protested somewhat weakly.

 

She merely patted his shoulder in a petulant manner, walking out the door none the wiser about Washington’s childish action of sticking his tongue out at her.  Regardless he clutched the coffee close, reveling in the warmth and internally agreeing that she had no room to judge his coffee choices when she only took hers _black_. His coffee was definitely better than that bitter mess.

 

The next hour was spent hanging up fliers across the west side of town.  Washington hadn’t really paid any mind to the small teal back-pack that Carolina had brought with them, flung over one shoulder.  It had seemed pretty normal at first, as it was the same pack that she carried to and from the gym all the time.  However, when she’d opened it to reveal hundreds of fliers packed neatly inside, Washington had wanted to groan.  This was going to take much longer than he’d anticipated.

 

In-store bulletin boards and lampposts proved to be the most in-demanded ad space, but Carolina insisted they delve into train stations and bus alcoves as well.

 

All-in-all, it wasn’t an overly bad experience.  It gave him a lot of time to spend with Carolina while the two of them were actually _doing_ something.  Most of the time they only passed each other at the gym, and while they shared an apartment, Carolina spent most of her time outside of it, and when she was there it was only to sleep.

 

Occasionally, Washington got the feeling that Carolina felt guilty about how much time she spent outside of the apartment.  She didn’t feel like she was living up to her obligations as a roommate or something.  But she paid her half of the rent and groceries.  And it wasn’t like Washington was _alone_ or sitting in the dark all by himself.  He had his classes to teach at the gym, and when he wasn’t there, he was at home with their two cats, very decidedly _not_ alone.  Washington was fully aware that Carolina didn’t count the cats as company, but he would fight her tooth and nail if they ever actually engaged in a debate about it.  He loved Skyler and Ari just as much as Carolina most days.

 

Despite all that, it didn’t mean that Washington didn’t miss the time spent with Carolina.

 

Except for right now.  Right now he could use a little less of her.  “C’mon, Wash,” Carolina rolled her eyes.  “We don’t have that many fliers left, and half the town uses the subway.  It’s the best place to reach out to people.”

 

“That’s not true, and you know it.  Besides, I hate the subway.”  Washington could hear the whine in his own voice, even as Carolina very nearly pushed him toward the subway entrance.  To be fair, Washington had ridden the subway once, and it had been one of the worst experiences ever. Of all time.  Not that that seemed to deter Carolina any.

 

“It’s not like we’re riding it.  We’re just going to go down and hang up these posters.  Then we can leave.”

 

“Why don’t you do the subway then, and I’ll stay up here and do the square?”

 

“We’ll come back up and do the square.  It’ll be faster if we go together and split the work.”

 

“But, Lina,” Washington protested, “it’s crowded and damp and smells weird.  Plus you have to pay to go downstairs.  It’d be throwing our money away to pay just to hang up some stupid fliers.”

 

Undeterred by Washington’s protests, Carolina strode inside, pulling a frequent traveler pass out of the back pocket to her leggings.  Washington couldn’t help the sputter that came out of his mouth.  Carolina walked nearly everywhere she needed to go, and when she didn’t, she had a nice SUV parked in the garage across the street from their apartment. Washington couldn’t imagine a time when she would have ever needed to take the subway, let alone take it often enough that she’d have a frequent traveler pass.

 

She shrugged when she caught Washington’s open-mouthed stare, swiping the two of them in with ease.  “York likes to take the subway.  Sometimes we take it just to walk around the different stations.”

 

“I don’t –“  Washington stopped, trying to gather his thoughts together.  “You don’t seem like you’d like the subway,” he finally settled on a bit lamely.

 

Carolina just shrugged again.  “It’s interesting.  You get the chance to meet a lot of interesting people too.”  Washington’s brows knitted together, and he turned to try to catch her gaze, but it was almost as if she’d taken a few steps quicker to get out of his direct line of sight, choosing to lead the way down into the depths of the subway than to walk with him.

 

Frown increased further, Washington didn’t protest, merely watched Carolina to avoid looking around at the graffitied walls and strange people.  Maybe if he didn’t pay attention he could forget where Carolina had dragged him to.

 

When they reached the bottom of the stairs and into the station proper, Carolina shoved a small handful of posters into his hands.  “Just a few more,” she promised, before disappearing into the crowd of people.  Washington fidgeted for a moment, uncomfortable with being left alone.

 

He’d never been a person that particularly liked crowds.  They made him uneasy, and while most people were clicking away on their phones, heads down, Washington still felt the hot press along his spine as if he was being watched.  Logically, he knew that was unlikely to be true, but it didn’t stop the press of conversation echoing in the chamber to feel pressuring or the enclosed space to seem smaller than it actually was.  There were no subway trains in the station, no rumble of them on their way or departing.  The air merely felt still and suffocating.

 

Instead of dwelling on the situation, Washington quickly made his way around his immediate area, taping posters up around the seating areas and up next to maps.  A few people looked up when he came by them or took a glance at the fliers, but for the most part, he remained relatively ignored.  Not that he was complaining.

 

Hyper focused on the task, so that he could finish, Washington almost didn’t notice when Carolina stepped up behind him.  “Ready to go?” she questioned, and he couldn’t agree fast enough. 

 

Soon enough they were stepping back up into the outside, and it felt like the first good breath Washington had taken since they’d gone down to the station.  Carolina, who had been a few steps behind him, glanced around the square as if scoping out the best places to use the remainders of their fliers.  There was a frown, set tightly on her lips, but Washington was content to relish in the fresh air than to question her displeasure.

 

After a minute or two, she patted his shoulder.  “You stick around here,” she told him, “I’ll go get the far end of the square.”  She was gone before Washington had the chance to say anything, fresh handful of posters at the ready while she disappeared into the crowd.

 

Washington merely shrugged off her somewhat strange behavior and made for the nearest lamppost.  The square wasn’t overly crowded for the middle of a Saturday afternoon.  People milled about, in and out of stores around the square, but the people chatting around the fountain and spread out on benches were dense enough, that he couldn’t make out Carolina across the square.  He knew they’d be able to find each other when they were done, however, the square wasn’t _that_ large.

 

Hanging the rest of the fliers was almost cathartic, allowing Washington to shake off the uneasiness that the subway had given him.  It created enough of a lull, that he didn’t immediately notice when music started up not too far away.  It was actually the circle of people that alerted him to the sound.  He’d just turned away from pining up one of the last of his posters and saw the crowd from the corner of his eye when he was turning around.

 

Typically street performers weren’t overly engaging in Washington’s opinion.  However, the crowd clapping at somewhat random intervals and the heavy beated music picking up volume in an attempt to fill the open-air stage peaked Washington’s interest enough to at least take a few steps closer to see what sort of performance had caught everyone’s attention.

 

He ducked around heads to get a better look, interest raised when he realised it was a dancer that had captivated everyone’s attention.  He wove he way through the crowd until he was near the front with an uninterrupted view of the free style dance.

 

The performer was male, all hard lines and compact muscles, but he moved with a practiced ease that spoke volumes of how comfortable he was in his body.  Washington’s instructor brain kicked in almost immediately.  Clearly his routine was at least somewhat rehearsed, the motions appearing practiced, so the dancer had put at least some time into his performance.  However, Washington doubted that he was formally trained, rather self-taught.  He lacked the fluidity of technique, and while his actions were flashy and comfortable, they lacked grounded skill.  It didn’t mean that the guy didn’t have talent, and Washington could appreciate the routine of someone with little technical experience, but he couldn’t help but note the imperfections as well, noting how he would do with some actual training.

 

Washington flinched when a sudden weight landed on his arm, but he quickly recognized that it was just Carolina.  She was using his shoulder like an arm rest despite him being somewhat taller, leaning her weight against him.  There were a few posters left clutched in her hand, but she’d clearly been drawn to the sound as well.

 

“He’s good,” she noted.

 

“Could be better.”

 

Carolina nudged him with her free hand.  “Everyone could be better.”  They watched him for a few more minutes, Washington mildly surprised by the more dexterous moves the dancer managed to complete.  He was stronger and more flexible than his body immediately revealed, holding himself up with one arm, albeit shakily, while he struck some more advanced positions.  As the song began to close, he man ended his little routine, weight on his shoulder, supported by one leg while the other shot to a sharp angle into the air.

 

The song ended, and the man rolled up onto his feet to a round of clapping.  His smile was wide, eyes alight in the praise of the people around him.  He took a few gratuitous bows, while Carolina removed her weight.  “You should talk to him,” she said almost immediately.

 

Washington turned to scoff at her, until he caught the extremely determined glint to her eyes.  Instead his scoff turned into a surprised sputter.  “I’m – I’m not going to go _talk_ to him.”

 

“No, you really really should.”

 

“Why would I – I don’t –“  And then he took in exactly everything about her.  The way her eyes shown with earnestness, the somewhat rushed tone of her voice, and the posters still clutched in her hand.  He recognized almost immediately what she was trying to do.  In his attempt to backpedal his way out of the conversation, quite literally, Carolina grabbed his arm in her steely grip and pulled him back in.  “He’s a _breakdancer_ , _Carolina_.”

 

Carolina just rolled her eyes, “And you dance jazz; they’re not all that different.  He’s here, he’s got talent, and _you_ need a partner for the competition.”  She practically shoved the flier in his face as if he didn’t already know exactly what it said.  “Wash, seriously, it’s not gonna hurt you to go over there and ask.”

 

“But, _Carolina_ ,” and Washington would never admit to the fact he was whining, already coming around to the realization by the look in Carolina’s eyes that he wasn’t going to get out of this.  She was right too.  He _did_ need a partner for the competition if he wanted to enter.  He’d been throwing around the idea of asking one of his students for the last few weeks, but it seemed a bit too personal a request, and most of his students were there for a bit of fun, not to compete.  At this point in the game, Washington had virtually resigned himself to not competiting.

 

“Look at it this way, even if you don’t get a dance partner out of talking to him, you can at least recruit him as a new student.  We both know that he could seriously benefit from someone with training.”  And, okay, Carolina had a point about that too – she was right more often that Washington liked to admit.  It certainly didn’t mean he had to like or appreciate it.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Washington grumbled.  He was starting to get the feeling that if he didn’t go talk to the guy that Carolina was going to do it for him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see how that would turn out for him.

 

The guy had finished his theatrical bowing, and while he hadn’t started up another routine, he was fiddling with the ipod he had hooked up the speaker system he’d brought with him as if trying to decide what he was going to go with next.  Carolina gave him a small shove to get him moving, and with a resigned slump to his shoulders, Washington nudged his way up toward the guy.  The circle had somewhat dispersed, clearly not interested in waiting around for him to start up again.

 

Up close, Washington had to admit that the guy was somewhat attractive. He was definitely able to fill out both the tank top and leggings he was wearing, and Washington noted all the undeveloped muscle that he possessed.  With some training, he’d likely be able to do some of his earlier moves without shaking from the strain. 

 

“Um, nice leggings,” Washington offered a bit lamely.  The leggings were fine, Nike, with their logo running down the side in teal, but nothing overly spectacular.  They probably allowed for a fair amount of breathing room if the mesh slits along the sides were anything to go by.  The guy looked up when he spoke as if just noticing Washington right then.  He set down the ipod on top of his speakers, apparently more interested in Washington who felt somewhat anxious under the intense look.  A smirk crossed the guy’s face.

 

“Oh, yeah, you like them?  Well, you can ‘just do me’ any time you want, baby.”  For a moment, Washington’s jaw dropped in incredulous surprise, before he forced his mouth closed tight.  He felt an intense flash of irritation that almost caused him to turn back around with no comment.  “Wow, nothing?  Not even a snappy comeback, big guy?”

 

Yup, that was it, “This isn’t going to work,” Washington muttered more to himself than street performer-guy.  Before he could take a step away the dancer had grabbed his arm, pulling him back around.

 

Washington went, with a glare and retort ready, but there was an almost earnest look on the guy’s face now, his leer wiped away.  “Look, you’re not interested.  That’s cool.  Just gotta tell me to back off, but you can’t blame a guy for trying, you know?”  The guy shrugged, hand still on Washington’s arm.  They both seemed to realize it at the same time, the guy letting go while Washington flinched away from the casual touch.

 

“Trying to what?”

 

“Are you serious right now, man?”  Washington was sure that his deadpan expression showed that he was incredibly serious.  Apparently the look came through, because it was like sunlight dawned over the guy, expression opening in surprise.  “Dude, you’re hot.  Like _really_ hot, all muscles and blond hair and tall.  Well, taller than me.”

 

And, okay, not _exactly_ what Washington had been expected to hear.  He’d figured the guy was just messing with him, but the open expression on his face now told Washington that maybe he had been earnest the entire time.  A flush painted Washington’s neck and cheeks.  He could feel it burn just under his skin.

 

“Look there’s –“ Washington cursed inwardly when he felt his voice begin to crack.  He cleared it, hoping to pass it off as a cough rather than nerves.  No reason to be nervous. “There’s a dance competition next month.”  He passed a poster over to the guy, suddenly glad that he hadn’t managed to run out before now.  “You’ve got talent.”

 

The guy took the poster, staring down at the bright colors before looking up at Washington with a bit of surprise.  It quickly transformed back into the confident leer he’d been supporting earlier. “Yeah?  You watch my moves?”

 

With a frown, Washington replied, “Yes.  I said you have _talent_.  You won’t be able to win a competition like this with just that.  You need a routine and technique to back it up.  Besides it’s a partner competition.  You can’t enter by yourself.”

 

“So, you don’t think I can win, but you’re still telling me I should join.  What the hell’s the point of that?  Plus there’s a –“ he paused to look back down at the flier, fingers skimming the glossy print, “thirty dollar entry fee.”

 

“Because you do have talent, that’s why.”  Washington crossed his arms over his chest, even as he felt himself going through the usual spiel he went through during his classes.  “Even if you don’t win it’s a great learning experience.  The group hosting it has world-class dancers.  They travel around the country.  Consider it a networking event, plus you’ll be able to see other dance routines and pick up some tips from them.  It’s a great opportunity for everyone who shows up regardless of how well they place.”

 

There was a moment of silence before the guy began to laugh.  Washington frowned, arms tightening defensively across his chest.  “Dude, you sound like a talking billboard right now, you know that?”  With an irritated huff, Washington looked away feeling embarrassed under the guy’s onslaught of giggles.  Noticing Washington’s withdrawing state, the guy quieted himself.  “Look, I appreciate the spiel, but I don’t have the money for the entry fee.  The only way I’m getting home is on the tips I got for dancing down here.  Hell, even if I did have the money, I don’t have a dance partner anyway.  So, thanks but no thanks.”

 

This time it was the guy’s turn to turn away from the conversation.  He knelt back down to apparently begin backing up his things.  Not that there was a whole lot to pack up.  A black carrying case to protect his speaker system, a handy little sachet for the ipod.  “I’ll pay your entry fee,” Washington found himself blurting before he really knew what he was saying. 

 

He chanced a glance to the side, hoping to see Carolina where he had left her, but with no luck. Mostly he just didn’t want to see the guy look back up at him, because he knew he was, could feel that brown gaze on him.  “Look I don’t have time –“

 

There was a rumble beginning to thrum through the square, the concrete underfoot shaking just slightly, a train likely finally coming into the station below the square.  Washington couldn’t imagine what had taken it so long, but maybe he hadn’t been in this conversation for nearly as long as it felt like.  Unwilling to take back what he said, damnit Carolina was _right_ , he cut the guy off. “I will.  Pay your entry fee that is.  You do have talent, and I’m looking for a partner too.  I figure we can team up, work on your technique and polish up a routine in a month.”

 

“You’re serious.”  When the guy stood, Washington forced his gaze back in that direction.  Their eyes met, and there was no joking there, only fierce determination that Washington hadn’t at all suspected. 

 

“Yes.”

 

There was a sharp electronic alarm that suddenly cut into the air between them.  The man reached into a pocket in his leggings to pulled out a phone and silence it.  “My train is gonna be here any minute,” he guy said, sliding his stereo over his shoulder.  “It’s Tucker, by the way.”

 

He stuck out a hand, and Washington shook it.  “Look, I teach classes at the Freelancer gym and Wednesdays and Fridays, three until ten.  It’s late, but you should stop by after class.  Just ask for Wash, they’ll point you in the right direction.”  Washington felt himself speaking quickly, not wanting to lose Tucker’s attention to the train he needed to catch.

 

“Wash. Right.  I’ll be there.” 

 

Tucker released Washington’s hand and headed into the crowd that was descending into the subway station that Washington had left not even an hour ago.  In a minute more, Tucker had disappeared down the steps.  Washington felt himself straining to see where Tucker was gone, maybe to wave a goodbye if he turned to look, but he didn’t see him. He forced himself not to feel disappointed.  As Washington was turned back toward the open square, Carolina appeared back at his shoulder.  “How’d that go?”

 

“I think I found a dance partner.”

 

\--

 

Having a full month before the competition meant two things for Washington.  The first was that he had three or so weeks to train and work with Tucker.  It gave them time to choreograph a routine together, and while it wasn’t a lot of time to give Tucker a great deal of technical training, Washington could at least perfect the techniques that they’d need to use.  On the other hand it also meant that he’d be spending hours a day after work with Tucker.  Alone.  Which in theory didn’t seem too bad, but in practice was perhaps more than Washington had anticipated.

 

As promised, Tucker showed up toward the end of Washington’s last class the next Wednesday.  He appeared outside the glass window that separated Washington’s studio from the rest of the gym.  The only reason Washington noticed was that the back wall was an expansive mirror that reflected Tucker’s smirk back at him.  He seemed to notice the same moment Washington saw him, pointing toward his reflection and then waving.

 

Washington resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead turning around and motioning for Tucker to come in.  A glance at the clock showed that it was only fifteen minutes before the end of his final adult ballet class, and it wouldn’t hurt for Tucker to come in and at least see some of how Washington operated.

 

Tucker padded into the room, surprisingly quiet under the sound of the overhead speakers broadcasting the dancers’ current routine.  It was a quicker one as his last classes of the day were always his more advanced ones.  It ran the dancers through a variety of positions, limbs loose from the hour of barre they underwent before they moved into the open space of the room.  The collapsible barres were still out, shoved to the sides of the room to make space for the dancers while not obstructing their view of themselves from the mirror. 

 

Washington wove through them, occasionally performing the motions himself, nearly always calling out counts, and correcting techniques as he came across them.  His own body was pleasantly warm from the day, not yet exhausted but reaching that point.  He’d always been a bit of a night owl, and now was no different, but it didn’t stop the exhaustion from a day of dancing from catching up with him.

 

A quick glance to the side showed that Tucker had stumbled his way over the discarded barres to the wooden bench that lined the right wall.  Usually it remained unoccupied except for parents when he taught younger classes in the afternoon.  The young students liked having their parents there watching them, and if the parents didn’t mind sitting through the hour class every week, he wasn’t going to throw them out either.

 

Feeling content to leave his students for the last few minutes or so of their routine, he wove his way through the dancers, avoiding stray limbs to stand near Tucker.  He made a face when he saw Washington approaching.  “You’re not gonna make me do _ballet_ are you?”  The word practically dripped with disdain, and while ballet wasn’t Washington’s first choice in style, it certainly improved dancers’ flexibility and agility. 

 

“I wasn’t _planning_ to, but maybe I’ll have to change our schedule,” Washington shot back with a frown.  “It’s a good style, incredibly useful in improving footwork which I can imagine you need more of.”

 

“Yeah, whatever, dude,” Tucker replied with an eye roll.

 

“Most people neglect footwork in favor of making their routines more,” Washington paused to search for the word he was looking for.  In the end he just ended up making a large motion with his arms.  They wanted flashy and fast and with lots of arms.  Those actions just hid the fact that they lack the technical skill needed to make a truly spectacular performance.

 

“You saying I’ve got shitty footwork?”

 

“Everyone can improve.”

 

Tucker was frowning at him, nearly glaring, and Washington couldn’t help but glare back, daring him to start the argument.  After a moment or so, Tucker’s expression melted into a smile, eyes crinkling pleasantly.  “Dude, I’m just fucking with you.  You don’t need to be so uptight.  But seriously, you’re not going to make me do ballet for this competition, right?”

 

Washington’s brows knitted together in a bit of displeasure.  He didn’t particularly appreciate the teasing.  “We’ll be taking concepts from ballet to work on technique, it really is a helpful style for nailing down precision in movements, but no, I wasn’t planning on entering the competition as a ballet duo.”

 

The clock turned over to fifteen minutes before ten, and the buzzer by Washington’s mat in the front of the room began to go off.  Washington pulled a small remote from the pocket of his sweatpants to switch off the music while the class relaxed, falling into more comfortable poses.  Connie stepped forward from her spot in the front line to turn off the timer by Washington’s things.  Connie was both a friend and long-time member of the gym.  Her and South taught self-defense classes in the afternoons, but she always stopped by for his advanced ballet classes.

 

“I need to run them through cooldown.  It’ll be a few more minutes.”  Washington jogged to the front of the room while Connie returned to her place.  Eyes and thoughts off Tucker, Washington began to run his last class through their ending stretches.  He felt the warm ache back in his muscles as he went through the stretches with them for the last few minutes before they did a last minute cleanup, tearing down the barres and packing them into the storage closets behind the mirror.

 

He wished the class farewell, acknowledging a few waves on their way out.  Connie gave him a wink as she stepped through the door that brought a frown to his lips.  South was leaning against a nearby wall, meeting her when left.

 

“All right, hot stuff, let’s get this party started.”  Washington turned to his now mostly empty studio to Tucker rummaging in his drawstring bag.  He sincerely hoped that Tucker wasn’t planning on pulling out his speakers and getting right down to business.  They had things to go over first.  Thankfully he just pulled out a solid tin water bottle in teal and a matching headband that he used to quickly tie back his dreads.  In fact, everything about Tucker seemed to be a competition in matching.  His teal tank top and shoelaces really seemed to tie the whole ensemble together.

 

Instead of answering right away, Washington did a few wide circles around Tucker, taking note of his size, the way is muscles contracted and released when he stood from his squat near the floor, the way his balance was shifted more toward his heels than the balls of his feet.  As Washington moved, Tucker seemed to size him up as well, eyes following the movement with a frown. 

 

“We gonna start or are you just gonna check me out all night?  I don’t mind; you can look as long as you want, baby, but if that’s all you wanted we coulda just gone to a bar.  You didn’t have to ask me to come to work with you.”  Washington had expected the flirty remarks and managed to ignore them, forcing the blush from his face.

 

“I’m just deciding where to start.”  Washington stopped his rotations in the front of the room with his back to the mirror.  Tucker was forced to turn around to meet him.  When he did, Washington sized him up one last time, taking their heights into account as well as noting with some surprise that Tucker held himself remarkably upright.  Most people tended to slouch when relaxed, but Tucker held himself with squared shoulders and a straight spine.

 

Tucker smirked with a hand on his hip.  He tossed his bag to the corner of the room, it slid into a heap in the corner once it hit the hardwood floor.  “I always like it hard and fast.”  Washington balked at the insinuation while Tucker just laughed at his expense.  “Didn’t think that one would fit as well into the conversation, but I’ll take it if it puts that expression on your face.”

 

Washington schooled his expression into something harder, booking less nonsense.  “I want five laps around the studio.”  His arms were still crossed over his chest, and he could feel the way his brows pulled together in a more displeased expression. 

 

It was like some sort of switch too.  The moment his body language closed off, he saw Tucker’s do the same.  The smile slipped from his face, and he nearly glared back.  Crossing his arms in a mimic of Washington’s stance, Tucker snapped, “Make me.”

 

“You run the laps or we’re done.”

 

“We haven’t even started!”

 

“It’ll be a quick lesson then.”

 

There was another tense moment of silence between the two of them, neither appearing willing to back down.  Washington intensified his stare, lips pursed and feet set.  Finally, Tucker let go of the stance with a groan and began his trek around the room.  The studio wasn’t all that big, and it would only take a few minutes for Tucker to do his laps.  It wasn’t the most ideal space for them.  When Washington needed a run to clear his head, he typically stepped on a treadmill or went with North on a circuit of the block.

 

“Good boy,” Washington couldn’t help himself from saying, hiding a smirk when Tucker flipped him off.  Thankfully, Tucker didn’t protest any further, and Washington maintained his stance waiting until Tucker arrived, five laps completed, in front of him.  The man was somewhat out of breath, hands clasping his calves as he drew in breaths.

 

“That was bullshit.”

 

“Running’s good for you, it works your legs, warms them up.  Now, are you ready to be quiet and actually let me train you?”

 

“Fucking fine.”

 

That seemed like the best he was going to get, so Washington wasn’t going to cause more dissent. Instead he sat down on the black marley.  It was tarnished and scratched from a week of dancers.  The custodial staff would be in on Saturday to buff out the marks and make it pristine once again.  One of the best parts of the week was watching the way the perfect flooring became more imperfect through the efforts of his students.  Now he ran his fingers over a mark on his left while Tucker sat down across from him.

 

Over the next few minutes the two of them ran through some rudimentary stretches.  It quickly became clear that warming up was not something that Tucker was overly familiar with.  He managed to contort himself into the positions after a bit of prodding on Washington’s part, but it was obvious that they weren’t stretches he’d performed before.  Washington was sure he’d become comfortable with them by the end of the month.

 

“How much formal training do you have?” Washington asked falling into a final hamstring stretch.  For the most part they’d done the warm-up with little talking beside Washington giving soft instructions or periodically correcting Tucker’s positions.  Asking the question was more of a formality than anything.  Washington already had a fairly good idea of how much training Tucker had.

 

“Uh, define formal.”

 

“With an instructor.”

 

“Right, cool, uh, none.”

 

Yup, okay, exactly as anticipated.

 

“Right.”

 

The next two hours were spent with Washington running Tucker through fairly basic movements and positions.  He pulled from a variety of styles focusing on jazz and hip hop.  Tucker seemed to want to be a breakdancer by trade, and while Washington was unclear on where Tucker had picked up the style, it was a subdivision of hip hop, a style he was more equipped to deal with. 

 

Despite that, he was already choreographing a jazz swing routine for the two of them.  It was a classic style, and while it might be a bit out of Tucker’s comfort zone, it certainly wasn’t out of Washington’s.  He’d just have to hold the routine together for the both of them, mold Tucker into a follow that he could guide along the floor.  The other routines were likely to cater more toward contemporary styles; they’d certainly make out ahead by giving a pleasant throwback to some upbeat jazz styles.

 

It was after midnight when Washington decided that they needed to finish for the night.  The gym was quiet, the entire floor dark with the exception of their little studio.  Most of the lighting fixtures were motion activated, and no one had been moving around since the custodial team left an hour ago.  They’d wiped down the equipment, hardly paying the two in the studio any mind than the surprised glance that there were still people there. 

 

Tucker was coming a long way in their short amount of time, however, as they neared and peaked over the two hour mark, Washington could see the frustration begin to grow on Tucker’s face.  His body was covered in a slick sheen of sweat, that had begun to run into Tucker’s eyes, and every time he had to wipe it away he growled in agitation.  Washington could tell that it had less to do with the sweat and more to do with the fact that he was struggling to get some of the positions down to Washington’s strict specifications.

 

The longer they went, the less coordinated Tucker’s movements were becoming, leading to more of Washington’s corrections and a more irritated Tucker.  “We’re done,” Washington finally said.  “We’re going to go through cooldown stretches, and you can leave.”

 

“No – no, I can – I’ll _get it_ ; we just need to keep going.”

 

The blue hairband holding Tucker’s hair at bay had begun to slip, leaving his dreads to sag around his face.  His chest was heaving, and his water bottle was empty, but he readied back up into the first position of their cycle, ready to go another round.  It was easy for Washington to step close and nudge Tucker’s feet apart a few more inches with his own foot until his stance was wide enough.  “Second position is feet shoulder-width apart.”  It was a repetition that Washington had repeated a few times now.  There was a slight tick in Tucker’s jaw, but he didn’t say anything.  His smart comments had died about an hour and a half into the lesson.  “We’re done, Tucker.”

With hands on Tucker’s shoulders, Washington pushed until Tucker’s butt was planted firmly down on the marley.  There were patches of wet spots around them from where their sweat had accumulated.  It was really an altogether unpleasant sight, but one that, as a dancer, he’d long since gotten used to.  It seemed that Tucker did not quite have that luxury, pulling his hand away from the ground in disgust when he saw the large print it made on the otherwise cold floor.

 

Washington laughed softly, sitting down across from Tucker and beginning to go through stretches.  Tucker’s movements were sluggish by his followed along.  “How’d you get the –“ he gestured vaguely at Washington who frowned in confusion.

 

“The what?”

 

“The that, the scar.”  Before either of them really knew what was happening, Tucker had closed the distance between them, leaning out from his quadricep stretch to trace the scar that ran through the eyebrow above Washington’s right eye.  The blond flinched back, surprised.  People didn’t tend to touch him so casually.  Tucker didn’t seem to notice, pulling his hand back just to bend back into the stretch.

 

“I, uh,” Washington cleared his throat, “car accident.”

 

Tucker hummed softly.  “Must have been a bad one.  You’re lucky you didn’t lose the eye.”

 

“I wouldn’t call it lucky.”

 

“You saying you’re an unlucky guy, Wash?”

 

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing that I’ve got enough luck for the both of us then, isn’t it?” Tucker asked with a smirk.

 

\--

 

Tucker managed to spend exactly one hour attempting to learn Washington’s choreographed swing routine, before he took a step back with a frown, staring at Washington as if he was deeply contemplating why he existed.  It was rather unnerving actually.  Unlike their first lesson, Tucker had managed to keep up a steady pace of chatter this time, sometimes even going as far as to question Washington on his choreographing abilities.

 

“What is it?” Washington finally asked, unable to take the deep brown of Tucker’s eyes staring at him.  He’d been thinking about those eyes rather often over the last few days.  They hadn’t met Thursday because Washington didn’t teach classes that day, but he was contemplating checking the space out at an earlier time in order to train more with Tucker.  They only had a month after all.  Just because they hadn’t met up didn’t mean that Washington had stopping thinking about Tucker though.  In fact, he found himself thinking about him just a bit too much.  The way his body moved when he was falling into steps or how his brows crinkled in just a hint of concentration whenever there was a move that was particularly frustrating for him.

 

Or how brown his eyes looked when he stared at Washington like this.

 

“It’s not going to work.”

 

“We’ve barely started; what do you mean it’s not going to work?”

 

Tucker waved vaguely with his arms.  “This – this – everything.  It’s just not my thing.  I can’t just do all your fancy moves and stuff.  Besides it feels like you’re just trying to push me and pull me around.  I thought we were doing a _partner_ dance not a Wash does all the work and makes Tucker do whatever he says dance.”

 

“It’s not like that,” Washington replied with a sigh. 

 

“Really?  ‘Cause it sure as hell feels like it!”

 

“It’s swing, Tucker.  I’m not trying to push or pull you everywhere, I’m trying to _lead_ you.”

 

After half a second Tucker’s expression morphed from the more exasperated contemplative look to something fiercer, and dare Washington name as angrier.  “So I’m the girl in this dance now?”

 

Washington ran a hand down his face in barely concealed weariness.  “No.  That’s not how this works.  People can dance whatever part they want.  This isn’t some sort of archaic thing where men are always leads and women are always follows.  People can dance whatever part they want.”

 

“So why don’t you let me lead?”

 

There was a hard frown creasing Washington’s lips now.  “That’s not what this is about –“

 

“How is that not what this is about!”

 

“Tucker, it makes more sense for me to lead!”  Washington wasn’t sure when Tucker’s voice had risen to a yell, let alone his own.  The voice practically vibrated into the room, the acoustics fine-tuned so that the dancers could feel it through the marley. It was a good thing that they conducted their lessons after everyone had gone.  The rest of the staff always made fun of him when he lost his temper, the way his face turned red and his voice raised in pitch to falsetto range.  “I know the material and the steps better than you do; I can guide you through them.  Not to mention that I’m taller and will be more equipped to do the heavy lifting.”

 

“Oh, so now you don’t think that I can do any of the heavy lifting, huh?”

 

“Not if I’m the one you’re lifting, you’re can’t!”

 

Tucker paused, staring at Washington with squinted eyes.  “Yeah, fine, whatever.”  Washington nearly sighed in relief at Tucker’s concession.  He turned back around to get started where they left off, but Tucker didn’t come around to meet him.  When Washington met his eyes, Tucker shrugged.  “I’m not feeling it.”

 

“What do you mean you’re ‘not feeling it.’”

 

Frustratingly enough, Tucker didn’t give him a straight answer, instead just shrugging.  “I’m not feeling it.  As much as I like having your hands all over me, and trust me, baby, I do, I’m not into this whole lead-follow thing.  I want to do something else.”  Tucker plopped down right where he was standing, transitioning into some of the cooldown stretches that Washington had taught him at their last lesson.  After a few minutes of Washington struggling to come up with a reply, Tucker stopped and looked up at him.  “You gonna join me or what?”

 

“You don’t just get to decide when we’re done.”

 

“Uh, yeah, partners or whatever.  I can decide to be done whenever I want, and since I’m not doing this, and I doubt you’ve got anything else for us to work on, seems like I should start stretching.  Oh, hey!  We’ve got a bunch of free time; wanna get a drink after this?  We should totally go to the bar.”  Tucker seemed to perk up immediately at his own idea.  Washington definitely wasn’t going to attribute it to the fact that he’d also given in, and begun going through the stretches with him.

 

“We’re not going to the bar, Tucker.”

 

“You’re no fun.”

 

\--

 

“I just don’t _understand_.”  Even Washington could hear the whine creeping into his voice, but he ignored it in favor of flicking condensation off the glass planted on the bar in front of him.  His drink was nearly gone, and it was the fifth one he’d had poured in the last two hours.  Carolina, seated next to him, was only on her second, but York and South seemed determined to see who would win the title for most drinks of the night.

 

Washington _hadn’t_ ended up going to the bar with Tucker after their lesson on Friday, although he’d seen Tucker take off in the direction of downtown as soon as they were outside the gym.  However, he _had_ agreed to go when York and Carolina had both cornered him in the apartment and demanded his attendance Saturday night.

 

Which is how he’d ended up in the somewhat shady bar down the street from their apartment just after ten o’clock with four drinks down.  It was their usual go-to place, but rather than being sleek and modern like the clubs and bars downtown, it held more of the western tavern feel, a sort of underground speakeasy vibe.  South called it trashy; York called it delightful.

 

Washington didn’t care one way or the other.

 

Without answering right away, Carolina tipped a finger in his glass and pulled it away.  He wanted to snap at her, but didn’t really feel like he had the energy.  The glass ended up in York’s hands who was seated on the other side of Carolina.  He finished it without a second thought to where it had come from.  “You’re treating him like one of your students when he’s not.”

 

“But he is.  I can make him better.”  There was a pounding in Washington’s skull, right next to his temple when he lifted his head to regard Carolina seated next to him. It was steady thrum, like a heartbeat but only against the side of his head, and _hell_ he was going to feel that in the morning.  “He could be _so_ good, Cara – Carolina; I just need him to -” Washington let out a remorseful groan and let his head fall back against the bar.  He reached out to touch the condensation on his glass but remembered that Carolina had given it away when he only felt the water ring left behind on the wood.  That was okay.  He let his fingers run through that instead, sliding it around the surface of the bar.  “I need him to try.”

 

Carolina shook her head.  “He is trying,” she told him.  There was a victory yell from behind him.  South must have just taken another shot and upped York’s count.  York himself didn’t look the greatest from a sobriety perspective.  He looped his arm around Carolina’s shoulder and pressed a kiss against her neck.  It caught her attention, but she continued to give Washington her focus.  He was somewhat appreciative until it occurred to him that he was taking time away from her that she could be spending with York.  Love of her life.  Washington wondered briefly if he’d ever have something like that.

 

“’Course you will, Washy,” York sang at him.  Huh, apparently he’d been speaking out loud.  “Just gotta find the right girl - or guy.  I know how it is.”  South slid another drink across the bar for York, but it was Carolina who caught it.  York reached out for the shot, but Carolina downed it before he could, slamming the glass down on the table.  Probably for the best.

 

“What is that shit?” she couldn’t help but hiss at the same time that York stage whispered, “that’s so hot.”

 

“Fireball,” South spat.  The blond was looming over Washington with a sneer on her face, clearly displeased that Carolina had been the one to snatch up the drink rather than York.  “Don’t have to drink it, Princess.”

 

“You don’t have to drink shit either.”  Carolina’s brow raised just slightly as if daring South to contradict her.  The problem was, it was South.

 

South didn’t know how to do anything else.

 

“Yeah, well, not all of us have a daddy with lots of money now, do we?”

 

Washington didn’t really hear the retort that Carolina gave to that, although he could see the displeased expression on her face.  Instead of listening, he was too busy wishing that Connie was there, and not for the first time tonight.  Connie was always much better than the rest of them at dealing with South, especially when she’d gotten into a drinking contest with York.  North, who was seated on the other side of South and was the designated driver between the twins tried, but he just didn’t have the South finesse that Connie seemed to possess.

 

Yeah, he really wished Connie was there.

 

Or maybe Tucker.

 

With his bright eyes and smart mouth and attractive physique.

 

Now York was laughing, and that brought Washington’s thoughts back to the present and away from how unafraid Tucker had been the night before of dancing in each other space, practically sharing breath and how well he’d acted as a follow despite all his protests to the contrary.  And York was still laughing.  York’s voice made Washington want to pay more attention to what was being said, and when he did, he saw that York was laughing at him rather than whatever spat Carolina and South had been in.  In fact, the two of them were no longer trading words and had instead settled back into their seats.

 

Carolina’s expression was soft as she regarded him before patting his shoulder.  “You’re thinking out loud.”  Something about that felt like it should be bothering him, but Washington couldn’t exactly remember what it was that he had been saying or thinking or, well, his headache was returning.  “Look, this is Tucker that you’re dealing with,” she started after a long-suffering sigh.  “He’s not the sort of person that you can expect to defer to your knowledge.  He’s going to want to make you earn his loyalty, and even then, you’re going to have to give him something that he wants.  If you force him into a routine that he doesn’t like, your performance is going to fall flat no matter how good the either of you are.”

 

“You don’t know that.”  There was petulance there that Washington knew just as much as Carolina did.

 

“Then don’t listen to me.”  Despite her having every reason to, her voice didn’t come out as a snap.  “Trust me.  I know just how well it works to try to make people do what you want.”  There was sadness there, sadness and memories.  Washington frowned while York pressed kisses along Carolina’s bare shoulder in comfort.  Clearly he could feel the chilly atmosphere just as much as the two of them could.

 

It had been a few years since Carolina had danced in any sort of competitive fashion.  While none of them, except perhaps York, knew the exact details of what had happened, it had involved a falling out between her and her partner.  Tex didn’t come around the gym anymore, and it had caused quite a bit of tension that seemed to permeate the entire gym, even the departments that hardly interacted with dance in any sort of business fashion.  They all interacted in a less professional capacity.  Things hadn’t really begun to look up until Carolina had cut her ties and decided to focus on martial arts instead.  

 

Now she’d started a successful martial arts program at the gym and had her own floor and everything.  Except for her prolonged absence from the dance studio, it was like she had never really left.

 

\--

 

The absolute last thing that Washington expected was for Tucker to show up in the middle of the afternoon on a Monday.  In all fairness, Washington had suggested that they start training on his off days, but it wasn’t anything specific that they had agreed on.  Tucker didn’t even know that Washington would _be_ there.  He had no reason to be.  That didn’t stop him from spending most of his free days at the gym.  He did have free facility use after all.

 

North was on the treadmill next to him chatting about some client or another in the hour between appointments when Washington spotted Tucker coming onto the floor.  He only looked mildly lost but was playing it cool running his fingers over the machines in some sort of attempt to make it look like he knew what he was doing or was contemplating which machine to try out.

 

However, his eyes were scanning the floor, and he brightened up the moment he noticed Washington in the center of the room.  Like the first time they’d met, he was dressed in his ridiculous teal Nike leggings with a tank to match.  He wasn’t bad to look at, even from across the room where his features were less defined.  Washington himself wasn’t entirely sure when he’d started regarding Tucker as attractive rather than merely irritating, but he had a feeling it had been somewhere between pressing his front along the line of Tucker’s back in their Friday rehearsal and his second shot Saturday night.

 

If York’s snickers Sunday morning were anything to go by, Washington had been professing his attraction all through the bar trip Saturday night, and wasn’t that just an embarrassing happenstance?

 

“Give me a minute, North.”

 

His words cut off what North was saying about some woman that had come in as a new client looking to work with a personal fitness trainer but spent her entire first session ogling North’s ass to actually make any sort of progress.  The other blond’s gaze seemed to catch on where Washington was looking at Tucker across the floor, and he smiled softly.  “Yeah, we’ll catch up later.”

 

Before leaving, Washington pulled his black towel off from the machine, and used it to wipe a majority of the sweat from his face and neck before slinging it over his shoulder.  As he drew closer to Tucker who had seated himself on the end of one of the tricep extenders, he saw the clear smirk on his lips.  Washington liked to think he was an observant person, and if those skills told him anything, it was that Tucker was checking him out as he drew closer.

 

It seemed that Tucker’s brown eyes followed the movement of his arms, and for once, Washington didn’t feel entirely uncomfortable in his own skin.  He usually shied away from wearing more revealing clothes, but sometimes in the comfort of the gym, he opted for tank tops despite the fact that they revealed the scars on his right side, particularly the nasty one on his shoulder that was a knot of raised skin, whitened from age.  Another of his wonderful take-aways from the car accident that had marked his face.

 

Typically, when people stared, Washington threw on a hoody and ignored it.  Under Tucker’s gaze, he didn’t feel the usual need to cover himself.  While Tucker’s eyes ran over him, they didn’t stop at his shoulder; he didn’t grimace away when he saw the scars.

 

“It’s Monday,” Washington said for lack of any clever opening.

 

“Dude, you’re hot as shit.”

 

“Um, thanks?”

 

“You’re welcome.  I mean that.”

 

There was a long moment of quiet before Washington repeated himself and added, “I don’t have a new routine ready for us yet.”

 

“That’s cool.  I was thinking we could do lunch, actually.  You look like you don’t eat enough, and I was in the area, so I figured it’d be cool.”

 

Washington frowned.  Something about the invitation didn’t feel quite right, in no small part due to the way that Tucker wouldn’t meet his eyes.  Tucker almost always made eye contact, an unnerving amount most of the time.  “Who put you up to this?”

 

“Wha?  No one!”

 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Washington steeled himself for an argument.  “Look, you don’t need to do this, okay?  I _do_ eat.  I don’t know what the girls have been telling you,” because it had to be one of them, they were always complaining that Washington didn’t eat enough, “but you really don’t have to go out of your way.”

 

Instead of rising to the bait, Tucker was full of surprises today, he answered softly, reaching out as if to touch Washington before thinking better of it and clutching the drawstring slung over his shoulder instead.  “Carolina mentioned that you usually skip lunch, and I wanted to see you anyway, so it just worked out that way, all right?  She also said that coffee would be good, but I work in the mornings, so…”

 

Attempting to sooth the defensiveness that had built up in his chest, Washington took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  Tucker had never given him any reason not to trust him, and he seemed sincere now.  Besides, even if it was some sinister plot by Carolina to get him to eat more, getting to know Tucker more wasn’t going to hurt him.

 

Which is how they ended up at one of those family owned kitchens that was two blocks away from the gym.  It had been an easy walk away, and while Washington had been down this way before, he’d never really paid attention to the place.  It was stuck in the middle of wall-to-wall businesses, and the sign was a rather unpleasant orange color that was more of a turn-off than anything.  If Washington had seen it before, it’s likely that the color coordination would have warded him away.

 

Tucker seemed more than happy to go inside though.  The place didn’t look _so_ bad, in hindsight.  Yes, the orange storefront was less than pleasing, and the vibrant shades of red when they walked inside didn’t help, but for the most part the establishment seemed clean.  It quickly became clear that it was a pizzeria, although the flashing pizza-shaped light fixture in the window had given him enough of an indication of that.

 

What was perhaps the most surprising about the whole place was the fact that it was still prime lunch hours but the place was completely deserted.  The plastic tables and chairs, all red, were shinny and clean, but there were no guests and no wait staff in sight.  There was a food preparation area along the right wall; apparently it was one of those places where they performed for the people they were serving with quick tricks.  Washington wasn’t sure if Tucker had looked the place up or been there before, but either way, he wasn’t entirely sure that his first impression of distaste wasn’t more on the mark about the place.

 

“Tucker, maybe it’d be better if –“

 

“Nah, it’s cool, Wash.  Just sit down and give it five minutes.”

 

Tucker gave him a bright smile, and while he wasn’t sure he was convinced, he figured he could at least humor Tucker for the time being.  They had their picking of tables, but Washington opted for a corner booth for two that gave him both a good view of the entrance and the food prep station.  Washington had never been overly comfortable with having his back to a room.  He liked being able to see people as they moved rather than just hear them.  Tucker didn’t seem to mind where he sat, sliding into the booth with a smile.

 

And almost as soon as they’d sat, Tucker’s assurance came true and a brightly dressed employee burst from the door behind the prep station.  “Tucker!” he exclaimed with a cheery smile. 

 

The man’s entire disposition just screamed of optimism and a general excitement for life.  It was….strange, actually.  Washington wasn’t sure that he’d ever met someone that seemed as upbeat as this pizzeria employee, not even his flirtiest dance students.  Tucker himself had a certain charisma about him, but it was a different sort of aura, one that Washington immediately found himself immensely more comfortable with.

 

“0oo, and who’s this?”  The employee’s full gaze was on him now, sparkling blue eyes, bleached blond hair, popped hip, and all.

 

“This is Wash.  Look, can you just take our order?”  Tucker sounded as exasperated as Washington felt.

 

“Sure thing!” he chirped, pulling a notepad and pen out from a pocket in his pink apron.  “Want your usual?  Or, wait!  We could cut it in the shape of a heart.  We should definitely get you a candle, dim the lights.”  His voice quieted as if he was thinking.  “Wait here; I’ll see if I have a candle!”

 

Washington was blushing, he was sure of it, could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.  Ducking his head in an attempt to hide, he was immensely grateful when Tucker stopped the server.  “Donut, don’t….do any of that.  Just have Grif make a large mushroom and pepperoni-?”

 

“Sausage,” Washington filled in, hearing the question in Tucker’s voice.

 

“-large mushroom and sausage.”

 

There was a pause in which Washington refused to look up, instead swiping the laminated menu from where it was tucked along the wall.  It didn’t matter that they’d already ordered as long as it gave him something to busy himself with until he felt his flush die away.  He heard the server speaking, but wasn’t really processing what he was saying.  Instead his thoughts were wrapped up in questions on whether the server knew what he was talking about.  Was this whole thing Tucker’s idea of asking Washington on a date?  He certainly flirted enough to show that he was interested, but Washington hadn’t really thought his attention moved beyond wanting a quick fling.

 

Tucker’s voice is what brought him out of his thoughts, well, more the movement of his body than anything else.  He’d been angled out toward the server, but now had turned back in to regard Washington.  “Ugh, Donut.  Usually it’s Simmons who waits on me.”

 

Washington looked up quickly, meeting Tucker’s startled expression.  After a second his brows knitted together in confusion.  “Are we on a date?”

 

It was like the question was some sort of switch.  Tucker didn’t close off exactly, but his confused expression smoothed to be replaced by one of sheepishness that was completely unlike anything Washington had seen from him.  A flush didn’t come to his cheeks like it would have Washington’s in the same situation, damn his paleness, but his fingers began to fidget, nails digging in to pick at his cuticles.

 

With a deep breath to steel his resolve, Washington reached across the space of the table between them to smooth out Tucker’s fingers and stop the picking before he began to bleed.  There was surprise in Tucker’s eyes when he raised them to meet Washington’s again.  “Because that’d be okay.  If we were, I mean.”

 

Hell, how could Washington turn Tucker down when he’d practically waxed poetic about him to Carolina and York Saturday night?  “Really?”  Tucker had perked up, the tension leaving his hands from where they laid under Washington’s.

 

Washington gave Tucker’s hands a gentle squeeze.  “Really.”  Tucker’s smile was absolutely blinding.

 

\--

 

Washington would be the first to admit that it had been awhile since he’d actually gone on a proper date, but when they arrived back outside the Freelancer gym, he distinctly remembered that parting was the most awkward part of the whole ordeal.  All-in-all the date hadn’t been a bad one.  Their pizza had come without too much of a problem, although it had been accompanied by yelling from the back room.  Tucker had told him not to question it, and he’d taken him at his word.

 

After eating, they’d begun to meander their way back toward the gym, but not before Donut flashed a wink at them that had caused Washington to blush on their way out.  He’d managed to put it from his mind to focus on Tucker’s mostly senseless chatter.  But now, here they were, just far enough away from the front entrance doors that the receptionist and security weren’t within view, but close enough that they risked running into one of the other gym instructors or patrons if they loitered for too long.

 

Tucker was deliberately avoiding his gaze, focusing instead on the cars passing on the street, fingers drumming idly against his thigh.  Upon most of their initial encounters, Washington wouldn’t have pegged Tucker has an anxious person.  Perhaps his last dating experience had gone just about as well as Washington’s had.

 

“I had a good time,” Tucker blurted suddenly.

 

Washington felt a soft smile creep across his lips.  “I did too.”

 

“Good.  That’s, uh, that’s good.”  Tucker turned his head to meet Washington’s gaze.  His brown eyes were wide and earnest.  Just as quickly as he’d spoken, Tucker leaned up to press a kiss against Washington’s lips, pulling away just as quickly.  It gave Washington no room for reciprocation, and left him staring after Tucker’s lips as they pulled away.  “Was that okay?”  When Washington didn’t answer right away, a frown marred Tucker’s expression.  “God, that was too fast, wasn’t it?  Or was it bad?  That can’t be right; I’m a great kisser.”  Tucker’s voice began to fade the more he spoke, until he was just muttering to himself, expression on the length of pavement that separated them.

 

Instead of answering verbally, Washington tipped Tucker’s face back up to meet him, watching his startled brown eyes before closing his own to press his lips back against Tucker’s.  It was a dry press of lips, but Washington felt his mouth turning up into a smile when Tucker’s hands latched onto his shoulders.

 

“I’ll see you on Wednesday, Tucker,” Washington said when it became clear that Tucker wasn’t going to say anything first after they’d pulled away.  He pressed another quick kiss against the corner of Tucker’s mouth, that had his lips curling up into a smile.  He turned back toward the gym, chest tight with a sort of breathlessness, and if he heard a whoop from outside after he’d entered the building, well, he wasn’t going to mention it.

 

\--

 

“Thanks for this, Connie,” Washington said, mildly breathless even has he passed her water bottle over to her.  They’d been working for the better part of two hours on the finishing choreography for the new routine he was going to teach Tucker the next day.  She didn’t have classes until the late afternoon, and with no dance classes on Tuesdays it gave them the entire run of the dance studio.

 

Connie just shrugged his thanks off, accepting the bottle from his hand, and downing at least half of it in one go.  She smiled at him as she left the studio to refill the bottle from the fountain around the corner.  Washington put his own bottle back against the side of the room, before stepping into the center of the space and going through some of the motions he had planned.  He checked the sheet at his feet as he moved, making sure that he had at least the opening of the piece memorized for his rehearsal with Tucker the next day.

 

The door barely made a sound when Connie came back into the room.  “Ready to keep going?” she asked him.  She really was a good dance partner, all stubborn determination and a hint of perfectionism.  Connie was also extremely committed to playing around with hand-to-hand combat and knife throwing.  Dance was nothing more than a passing fancy that she used to keep herself in shape without having to run the treadmills every day, not to mention the help it gave her with dexterity and hand-eye coordination.

 

“Want to run it with the music this time?”

 

“Probably should.” 

 

Connie waited for him to set up the speaker, going through some of the opening moves herself while she waited before moving to the far corner of the room to start.  When Carolina had pushed Washington to design a routine that would appeal to Tucker, he’d known she was right, but hadn’t wanted to admit it at first.  Not that that had meant he was going to cave completely and cater to an entirely hip-hop routine; it really just wasn’t his thing, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to give the style or their skills justice in trying to choreograph for it.

 

After deliberation, he’d settled on doing contemporary.  It would give Washington a more manageable challenge while also allowing him to showcase his skill.  Alternatively it would give Tucker the ability to accentuate his flexibility and somewhat impressive upper body strength.  All he’d needed to do was choreograph the routine.

 

As the chorus hit, Washington drew Connie in close to him, her back against his front before lifting her into a spin.  It was in that moment, that he was facing out toward the floor of the gym and caught Tucker standing halfway in the doorway, a look of utter surprise on his face.  Washington felt himself smile before fully registering the weight of Connie in his arms, and it was like a sudden shock to his system, brain jumpstarting back to the present.  He’d already misplaced a step or two, and he stumbled trying to correct himself before him and Connie ended up in a tangled mess on the floor together.

 

Washington froze for a moment, checking Connie for any bruises by attempting to catch her eye.  When their gazes did meet, Connie looked utterly unimpressed with him for a moment before breaking out in a grin that had them both laughing at their fall.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized through a laugh, disentangling himself and helping her to her feet.

 

Connie brushed him off, running hands down her legs to check for any immediate bruising.  “You should go catch your guy.”  She pointed toward the entrance of the studio, but Tucker was no longer there, sneaking his way inside.

 

“Did you see where he went?”

 

Connie shrugged.  “I was too busy falling.”  He smiled sheepishly back at her before grabbing his water and jogging out onto the floor.  It was the noon hour and the floor was deserted, everyone off grabbing their lunches.  There was a small café down on the first floor.  That seemed the most likely place for Tucker to have gone, unless he had decided to wait for Washington near the locker room.  Dashing didn’t seem like him, and Washington felt a tingle of worry crawl through his stomach.

 

He decided to make his first stop the reception desk.  Tucker would have had to check in and give a reason for his visit.  Maybe that would tell him where Tucker had decided to sidle off to.  While he hadn’t expected to see Tucker today, it was only Tuesday after all, it didn’t exactly surprise him either.  He sincerely hoped that Tucker had shown up to take him on another lunch date.

 

York met him on the stairs and stopped him with a hand against his chest.  “What’d you say to that crush of yours?”  Washington froze, hand on York’s arm to push him away.  The thing about York was that he was horribly optimistic _all the time_.  He was excitable and energetic and really a lot to keep up with most of the time.  It drug on everyone’s nerves at one point or another, so to see him now, with a serious look in his eye and a frown marring his enthusiastic expression was – disconcerting to say the least.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“That guy.  The one that you keep talking about all the time.  He came in a few minutes ago to see you and then was racing back downstairs not even five minutes later.  What the hell did you say to him?”

 

“I didn’t – I didn’t say anything.”  There was a sick feeling settling in Washington’s stomach, egged on by York’s sour expression.  There was an anxious burn in the back of his throat that Washington forced back down.  No reason to be upset.  Tucker probably just forgot that he needed to do something else and had to run out so that he wasn’t late.  It seemed like the sort of thing Tucker would do.  It didn’t matter that he was always early for their lessons.  That was no indication of Tucker’s forgetfulness in other areas.

 

York seemed entirely unconvinced.

 

“Really.  I was doing a set with Connie in the studio and saw him, but he was gone before I got to say anything.”

 

“He left a message for you at reception.  He said that he wanted us to wish you luck at your competition, but he couldn’t be your partner anymore.”  Suddenly the burning was back, and York watched him with sympathy.  While York led him to sit right in the middle of the stairs, he continued, “He said he won’t be back.”  Washington didn’t _understand_.  “North said you had a date yesterday; did it not go well?”

 

Washington had _thought_ it had, but what did he know?  If Tucker was running out on their rehearsals, on being dance partners, he clearly didn’t think that it had gone well.  He must have thought that they couldn’t even be friends, that he had to pull out of the competition and everything.  Not even _working_ partners.  He must have run because he didn’t want to say he wasn’t interested anymore in front of Connie.

 

“I thought – I thought it went _well_.”  York ran a comforting hand up the back of his spine to settle the weight against his neck.  The presence was immensely soothing, having York here to lend his support.

 

Maybe he’d just been a fool to think Tucker would like someone like him.  He had scars and his best friends were also just his coworkers.  Hell, he didn’t even spend most of his time with people he spent them with his cats.  Tucker had probably gone back to the pizzeria after they’d parted ways to laugh about how awkward the whole thing had been.

 

What if Tucker hadn’t even meant for the whole thing to be a date!  Washington was the one that had asked, and maybe Tucker had felt too embarrassed about it to correct him.  But then why had he kissed him outside the gym?  Washington sighed, feeling his whole body cave into itself with the exhalation. 

 

“You don’t have any classes today.  North’s new client is going to be here at one.  Want to come watch her poorly flirt with him for an hour while we make faces in the background?”

 

“I think I just want to go home.”

 

York stood, hand moving from Washington’s neck to his shoulder.  “Okay.  I’ll make Carolina bring you take-out after her last class today.  Just promise me you won’t hole up in your apartment for the next month, okay?  You need to get out sometimes.”  Washington nodded his assent, although he wasn’t entirely convinced himself that that wasn’t the exact thing he was going to do.  York’s eyes shown with understanding and sympathy as he pulled Washington into a hug.

 

Washington returned the embrace, but with less energy than York showed him.  It was like a numbness had swept through him, and all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch with his cats while watching bad television.  It didn’t matter that he told himself he was being ridiculous.  He’d barely even known Tucker two weeks, and he was acting as though he’d suffered some great heartbreak.

 

Rejection sucked.

 

\--

 

Despite promises to the contrary, Washington spent the next few days curled up in his bed under a nest of blankets.  He left the apartment to teach his classes, but turned down multiple invitations from his friends to meet up outside of working hours.  Carolina passed him concerned looks every time she passed the opened door to his room, that morphed into irritation the longer Washington stayed in bed.  He knew his friends were worried, but he just couldn’t scrounge up the desire to go anywhere.

 

However, Friday night proved to be an unfortunate interruption in his routine.  Five o’clock found him seated in a rather uncomfortable suit and tie, crammed between the Dakota twins in the back of Carolina’s blue hybrid.  York was chattering in the front seat, and Washington had to grudgingly admit that being in everyone’s company after nearly a week of withdrawal was actually pleasant.

 

The Director was hosting the annual gym benefit down at the city community center.  It had been months in the planning, the Director spared no expense.  With the city’s most successful gym, and a wealth of revenue from new memberships, he had no reason not to.  Everyone had the gym knew it was a social play more than an actual benefit to the gym.  The Director did like to show off, and for only owning a gym, he certainly had friends in high places.

 

Connie, Maine, and Wyoming all met them outside on the steps up to the hall once they arrived.  They showed their gym badges to the two women seated at a lushly decorated table just inside the entryway.  They checked their names off the guest list and wished them all a good evening inside.  The event was already gaining traction by the time they stepped inside.  The floor was littered with round tables cover in large, sprawling table cloths.  Gold sashes lined the chairs that matched the sheets of gold trim that delicately lined the windows.

 

Some years the Director set aside space for a DJ and dance floor, but it appeared that this year was going to be a purely social function.  Not that Washington minded all that much.  A dancefloor would have meant that most of his evening would be taken up dancing with some of the Director’s more illustrious guests.  A small quintet was posted up on a small platform in one corner, opposite the mirrored bar.

 

Which is exactly where Washington hoped to spend most of his night.

 

They spent a few minutes making nice with patrons around the entrance to the hall, ensuring that the Director saw that they had arrived and were playing the part that was expected of them.  However, after only a few minutes, Washington could feel South getting antsy beside him. 

 

“We’ve had some Chardonnay imported for the night,” Carolina slipped into the conversation.  “York, would you and your friends be a dear and fetch some for my father and I?”  Turning back to the older patrons they’d been entertaining, she asked in the sweetest voice Carolina was able to manage, “Can I have them bring either of you anything?”

 

“Oh, no, dear, it’s quite all right,” the woman answered.

 

Carolina’s expression clearly told them to go, while she continued to entertain, and Washington certainly needed no further prompting.  Carolina really was a life-saver. He lined up with South and York at the bar to order drinks, York, being ever dutiful, ordering two glasses of the Chardonnay despite his dislike for wine.

 

Order placed, Washington turned around to observe the room, elbows rested on the bar behind him.  Servers were walking through the room, golden trays laden with h’orderves and flutes of what was probably the imported wines.  The bartended tapped the bar to get his attention, sliding his finished drink over.  Washington thanked him while South greedily pulled her martini closer.

 

North joined them at the bar quickly enough, sliding into the small amount of space between himself and South.  Washington exchanged a short greeting with him before he ordered his own drink and started talking around him at York.  Washington lazily turned back toward the room, sipping on his cocktail and watching the quintet. 

 

“Is that Tex?” South choked next to him.  Washington turned sharply at the sound of her voice, following the stare of her eyes.

 

Washington didn’t even have time to locate where he was supposed to be looking before York was in the way, blocking his sight, drinks forgotten on the bar.  He was making quick time to Carolina’s side.  She’d moved now, further into the room, speaking directly with her father and his assistant.

 

As York reach Carolina’s side, he swept a hand around her waist to rest on her lower back.  Neither Carolina or the Director spared him a glance.  “That certainly looks like Tex, and _oh,_ ” North said quietly.

 

Sure enough, coming up on the Director and his party was Carolina’s brother, Leonard with Tex and _Tucker_.  Washington felt his shoulder tense in surprise to see Tucker there.  _Why was Tucker there?_   He didn’t seem like the type of person that would be hanging around the Director’s crowd.  North’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, indicating that he’d spoted Tucker was well.

 

Turning back around to the bar, Washington took his eyes off the crowd, an uneasy feeling churning in his gut.  Of all the places Washington had thought that he might run into Tucker again, this certainly wasn’t the place or the time he’d been expecting.  In fact, he hadn’t actually expected to ever run into Tucker _at all_.  Quickly glancing around the room, Washington took note of the exits, and inadvertently, the size of the room and the crowd.  It wouldn’t be hard for them to avoid each other.  The space was large, there was no dance floor, and the two of them wouldn’t be seated at the same table.

 

All his friends were here.  There was no reason to talk to Tucker.  He could get through this.

 

York and Carolina joined them at the bar only a few minutes later.  Washington looked over at Carolina when she stepped up beside him.  The bartender had disposed of York’s forgotten glasses, but she already had a flute in her hand from one of the servers.  York apologetically ordered another, but the bartender didn’t seem to mind, shrugging him off.  He still had his arm around Carolina, an anchor that Washington found himself somewhat jealous for in that moment.  He regretted the thought as soon as he had it; she was probably having just about a great a night as Washington was.

 

“You okay?” he asked her after a minute or two of silence between them all.  His voice was barely above a whisper, meant only for her.  She glanced at him when he spoke, so he knew that she had heard. 

 

“My brother and _Allison_ are dating again,” Carolina said firmly.  Her voice was level so that they could all hear her, but she wouldn’t meet any of their eyes.  “They have been for almost three months.  The Director has always been quite taken with her.  She’ll be a good addition to our family.”  Carolina’s fingers were white where they clutched glass; York pulled it gently from her grasp before she broke it.

 

“You want to talk about it?” North asked.

 

“No, I don’t want to _talk about it_.”

 

North shrugged.  “Whatever you say, Boss.”

 

North stepped away, probably to do some schmoozing and networking, what they were _actually there for._   Washington didn’t watch him go, instead meeting Carolina’s green eyes in the mirror behind the bar.  She only held his gaze for a moment before dropping it.  “We should find out seats,” she said into her hands, clutched against the wooden countertop, “dinner is going to be served soon.”

 

The table Washington and the rest of the instructors were always assigned to always sat right next to the table that seated the Director and his family.  This year, those tables had been placed squared in the center of the room, which seemed like an odd stylistic choice to Washington, but he wasn’t there to judge the decorator’s choices.

 

By some unholy strike of misfortune, it turned out that their nicely decorated table happened to be positioned next to the one where Tucker had been assigned.  He was already seated there, although he wasn’t looking up, instead typing away at his phone.  Leonard was seated a chair down with Tex in between them.  Tex was also on her phone despite Leonard’s obvious attempts to encourage her attention, and Washington wondered for only a second if the two of them were texting one another.

 

It was the Director’s table.  Carolina left a seat between herself and her brother, clearly reserved for the Director himself, while York took a seat on her other side.  The Director always had his children sit with him, the guests of honor so to speak.  Typically from year to year the seating at the table didn’t shuffle much.  It was the elite table, comprised of the Director’s prize possessions, and Washington wracked his brain trying to remember if _Tucker had always been there_.

 

He couldn’t remember.

 

The rest of his own table seemed to sense his unease, and made sure that he was seated at an appropriate angle where he and Tucker wouldn’t be near enough to interact, but not on opposite sides so that he’d be forced to watch Tucker all throughout dinner just by looking up.  Not that it stopped him.  He tried to keep up with conversation, enjoy the best meal he was going to have all year, and take advantage of the free drinks, but when he wasn’t paying explicit attention, he felt his gaze drift over to where Tucker was seated.

 

It wasn’t until late in the evening that Washington was finally able to corner Carolina.  She’d spent a large majority of the night conversing with donors and friends of her father with York constantly at her side.  For the first time all night she was alone, York skipped off the men’s room.  Washington himself at spent most of the night near the bar, enjoying the somber mood and the bartender’s quiet while managing to avoid the Director’s assistant each time he tried to come near.

 

“Why is Tucker here?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean?”

 

“Bullshit.  Why the hell is Tucker here?  He couldn’t afford to enter a dance competition, I hardly think he just suddenly has the money lying around to donate to a fitness gym.  How’d he get on the guest list?”

 

Carolina heaved a disapproving sigh.  “He’s a friend of my brother’s,” she answered.  “He practically spent all his time at our house when the two of them were kids.  He comes to these things sometimes.  He hasn’t in a few years, but, yeah.  Sometimes.”

 

Washington felt a spike of betrayal at Carolina’s words.  “You knew him then.  When he went downtown to hang up those stupid fliers, you knew he’d be there.  Was this whole thing a set-up?  What the hell was the point?”

 

“The point was,” Carolina snapped, clearly not appreciating the tone in his voice, “that Tucker’s a good kid who needed a good opportunity.  You’re a good dancer who needed a good partner.  I gave you that.”

 

“You set us up!”

 

“Why does that matter?”  Washington could hear the creep of anger in Carolina’s voice, but he found himself unable to care, unable to see past his own anger.  She’d completely played him.  Lured him onto that square and for what?  “Look, _David_ , I don’t know what happened between the two of you,” she held up a hand to stop anything that he was going to say, “and I don’t need to.  What _you_ need to do is get your head out of your ass long enough to figure out how you’re going to fix this.”

 

“There’s nothing to fix.”

 

Carolina rolled her eyes, resting a hand on her hip.  “Right.  That’s why the two of you have both been miserable all week.  And,” she added, “why the two of you have been staring at each other all night even though neither of you have actually noticed.”

 

“He’s been miserable too?”

 

“Sickeningly.”  Washington glanced over at where Tucker was still seated at his stop at the Director’s table.  He was alone now that dinner was over, but still on his phone.  “Go talk to him, Wash.”

 

“But what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”  Washington asked weakly.

 

“He does.  If nothing else, figure out why he walked out on you the other day.  You don’t have to be best friends, but you deserve to have closure at the very least.”  Carolina paused, her gaze distracted for just a moment by York who had begun to approach, but he immediately steered the other direction when Carolina shooed him away with a look.  Continuing, voice quieter, she said, “You can’t tell me you don’t want to talk to him.”

 

“Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

 

Carolina wandered off to join York and North not too far away, but Washington stood in place for a few more moments.  He watched Tucker from across the room.  It took a few deep breaths for Washington to feel less anxious about the whole situation.  It was late enough into the night that once he finished speaking with Tucker, he could grab his friends and they could make a dash without anyone batting an eye at them leaving.

 

Washington began his trek through the maze of tables.  Servers were slipping in and out between chairs, gathering up the dishes left from dinner.  The table Tucker was seated at had already been cleared.  All that was left was the white table cloth and glass centerpiece.  They’d even carted away the carafe of water although the bottom had left a still-visible ring on the cloth.  Tucker didn’t so much as look up as he approached.

 

His feet were propped up on Tex’s vacated chair, and he only looked up when Washington pulled the chair out to sit.  “The hell – oh.”  Tucker’s brown eyes were locked on him now, surprise turning quickly to an annoyed furrow.

 

“Yeah.  Hi.  I wanted to talk about the other day.”

 

Tucker’s expression hardened immediately.  His entire body shifted away from Washington, and his elbows pulled in defensively.  In only a moment he was sitting properly at the table again, torso pitched forward so that he could lean against the table thumbs dancing restlessly over his phone screen without actually touching anything.  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

 

“Nothing to – Tucker!  You ran out without even talking to me the other day!”

 

“I was just coming by to say that I quit.  I’m not cut out for the whole competition thing.  Thanks for the opportunity or whatever, but no thanks.”  Tucker stood up abruptly, shoving his phone in his pocket but seemed unsure of where he wanted to go, eyes darting around the room.

 

Before Tucker could pick a direction and step away, Washington grabbed his arm.  “Tucker, fine, you don’t want to dance with me.  We can still be friends though, right?  Talk to me.  Tell me what’s bothering you.”  Because there was something distressing Tucker, and Washington couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt off about the whole situation now that he’d sat down with Tucker.  The brunette’s body was a long line of tension, and he twisted his arm uselessly in Washington’s grasp until the blond decided to let him go.  Even then, Tucker didn’t flee.

 

“Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

 

“Why are you here then?”

 

“Because _Church_ , the asshole, didn’t want to come all by himself, and he just kept whining the whole time about Tex turning him down as if she ever came to shit like this.  Caboose usually comes because I hate these things and the dumb suits, but he had to work, and I _felt bad,_ so I came like a good friend even though I knew you’d be here, and Church knew you’d be here.  Fuck.”  Tucker’s voice was strained and his gestures grandiose and flailing.  Washington was mildly concerned about taking on of Tucker’s hands to the face.  “So, I said yes, because I’m a good bro, Wash.  Seriously.  I’m so fucking good to that asshole, and he’s just such a _fucking douche_.”  Tucker stopped to groan, a harsh sound that was a mixture between fed-up and sad.  “Then we get here and guess who’s waiting outside?  _Fucking Tex_.  Now he doesn’t give two shits that I’m here and has ignored me the whole time to make love-sick eyes at her.  You want to know something about Tex, Wash?  Hmmm?  She’s pretty much a bitch.”

 

“Yes, we’ve met.”

 

Tucker laughed humorlessly before plopping back down in his seat.  He crossed his arms on the table and buried his head there, barely missing the wet space on the table.  “I’m just so tired of always coming in second,” Tucker muttered into his arms.

 

Washington felt the inexplicable urge to run his fingers through Tucker’s dreads in comfort, but he had the distinct feeling that that wouldn’t be welcome.  Tucker’s little rant was making the situation painfully obvious for Washington.  Tucker was clearly pining after Carolina’s brother, and Washington felt a sharp stab of jealous at that.  Had the whole date thing the other day just been a ploy to make Leonard jealous or had he just been a poor rebound?

 

“Tex never seems to stay in one place for long,” Washington said after a few moments of silence between them.  It wasn’t necessarily a tense silence, but the air between them felt charged.  “I’m sure this is no different.  Tex will move on, and you can have your chance with Leonard.” 

 

At the suggestion, Tucker’s head raised to stare Washington dead in the eyes.  He seemed tired, eyes a bit dull around the edges.  “The fuck are you talking about?”

 

“What do you mean?  You were just telling me how you think Tex is a bitch.  Do you really think she’s going to stay around long enough to a real connection with him?”

 

“First of all,” Tucker said, sitting up now, “it’s _Church_ , not _Leonard_.”  He unfolded his arms to begin counting the points on his fingers.  “He’d probably stab you in the throat if he heard you call him that.  Well, okay, no.  He’s too much of a pansy.  He’d probably have some else, _like me,_ ” Tucker spat, “do it for him.  Secondly, Tex and Church have been doing their weird ‘I love you, I hate you, disappears for three months’ routine for _years_.  Seriously.  It’s disgusting.  And _third_ , what’s more disgusting is that you think I have a thing for _Church_.”  To accentuate his point, he made gagging motions until Washington implored him to stop.

 

“What else was I supposed to think?” Washington hissed in his own defense.  “Your monologue a minute ago practically screamed it.”

 

Tucker just rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, whatever, man.  All I was saying is that I put _way_ more effort into our friendship than he does.”  Washington wasn’t entirely sure he was convinced, but didn’t have a long time to dwell on it before Tucker coughed and asked, “So, uh, how’s the girlfriend?”

 

“How’s the what?”

 

He just stared at Tucker incredulously even as the other man gestured across the room.  Across the room where North, South, and Connie were.  “You know, the brunette.”  And suddenly everything going on made perfect sense.  “She’s pretty, you know, I uh, I totally get it.  And, like, I wouldn’t have kissed you if I’d known.  But you had said you thought it was a date, and I guess you could be in an open relationship or whatever, no judgements, but that’s just not my thing, ya’know?  I’m not so interested if we’re not –“

 

Washington began to laugh, cutting off the end of Tucker’s ramble as all of his previous jealousy washed away.  Tucker wasn’t using him as a rebound, he just thought he was _the other man_.  The twisting sick feeling that had been rolling around in his stomach most of the evening eased with his laughter, even as Tucker made some sort of displeased exclamation, either from being interrupted or laughed at.

 

Forcing his laughter down, he grabbed ahold of Tucker who’d leapt from his chair in a fit of indignation, ready to storm off.  Washington could still feel the smile tugging at his lips.  He stood to meet Tucker so that they were standing chest-to-chest, closer than they had been in days.  The other man was livid, his expression set in a hard frown and narrowed eyes.  “Connie and I aren’t dating,” he stated simply.  “She’s my friend, sure, but we’re not dating.  She has some guy wrapped around her finger, and, Tucker, I’m _definitely_ gay.”

 

The anger dissipated somewhat from Tucker’s eyes, but now he merely seemed suspicious.  His brows were furrowed, and Washington wanted nothing more than to smooth out the tension there.  He refrained, but he did run his hand up Tucker’s left arm to rest on his shoulder.

 

“Definitely gay,” he reiterated when Tucker didn’t say anything.  He could feel the way the corners of his eyes relaxed just regarding Tucker and wondered just how much his attraction, his _affection_ shown through in his expression.

 

“I saw you the other day.”  While not angry or accusatory, Tucker’s voice was filled with unease and suspicion.  “You were all like,” Tucker paused, gesturing vaguely in the small space allotted between them while he struggled for words.  “Wrapped around each other,” he finally settled on.

 

“People can dance together and _not_ be _together_ ,” Washington couldn’t help but point out.  “Besides, she was working with me on the choreography for our competition piece.  I needed a body more than anything.”

 

“Our-“

 

“ _Yes, Tucker_.  Connie’s my friend, and I needed someone to practice our routine on before I taught it to you on Wednesday.”  Washington let out a long breath, a soft smile on his face.

 

The explanation had begun to melt the suspicion in Tucker’s eyes, and for that Washington was extremely grateful.  He wasn’t looking Washington in the eye anymore, instead turning his gaze toward where Washington’s hand rested on his shoulder.  For the first time in the last few minutes, he seemed to realize just how close they were standing to one another, but he didn’t step away.

 

“You were dancing to _“Stay with Me._ ”

 

“I, uh, yeah?” Washington’s left hand reached up to ruffle the back of his hair nervously.  His smile slipped a bit in embarrassment at the tone Tucker had used.  He forced himself to shrug.  “I wanted to switch things up, find a routine that would better fit with our personalities.”

 

“And you thought that fit was _“Stay with Me?_ ”  Washington felt himself nod at the same time that Tucker broke into a blinding smile.  “You’re such a dork; you know that?”

 

Washington laughed.  “I’ve been informed.”

 

“So, baby, if you’re not seeing brunette over there, what’d you say you come over to my place and you can ‘stay the night with me.’”  Tucker wiggled his eyebrows in suggestion, s smarmy smile on his lips.

 

“Excuse me, I don’t put out until at least the third date.  You’ve only taken me on one.  You’re gonna have to work for this.”

 

“Ooo, that sounds like a challenge.  But we can definitely call this a date, right?  That means that if you come over and we put on a move but make-out the whole time that’s date three.”

 

Washington pulled his hand away with a chuckle only to have Tucker reach out and interlace their fingers together.  “How about we meet up for breakfast in the morning instead?”

 

“Close enough; I’ll take it.”  Washington smiled at him, gentle squeezing his fingers.  “So, uh,” Tucker coughed looking away and out toward the small groups of people socializing around them.  “I heard that you wanted to do this dance competition thing at the beginning of next month, but your partner made an asshole of themselves and ran out on you.”

 

“I wouldn’t call them an asshole.  Just a misunderstanding.”

 

“But, well, here’s the thing.  I know how to dance.  Some people would even say that I’ve got a lot of talent.  I thought maybe we could partner up, see how it goes.  I think we might be good together.”

 

“You do, do you?”  Washington hummed as if considering.  “I think you’ll have to show me what you’ve got.  What do you say about coming by my dance studio on Monday.  I think you know where it is.”

 

Tucker smiled up at him, eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners.  Washington felt his stomach do a bit of a flip in elation.  There was laughter trapped in his throat, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling widely.  “I think you’ve got yourself a deal.”


End file.
